Quarter to Three
by RinWyn
Summary: One Shot.  ROMY.  It's a quarter to three and the dreams are keeping her awake. Always the same, always of him. A want. A need.


**Author's Note: **I'm not sure how to explain this one shot. I wrote it quickly at a quarter to three. I guess I was just having one of those nights… ^_^;;

**Quarter to Three**

She awoke in a rush of beating heart and breathless gasps.

The time. Quarter to three.

She blinked at the digital clock. Once. Twice.

This was her room. This was her room and she was alone. She looked out into the darkness, her mind re-orienting itself, her heart still submerged in the memory of a dream. A want. A need.

She lay back in bed, her pillows warm, her blanket too thick. She touched a hand to her moist brow and sighed a deep sigh.

Not again.

A quarter to three and she was alone.

As always. Every night.

A smile – somewhat shy, somewhat coy – crept at the edges of her mouth. No, she was not entirely alone. The dreams were there. Always the same, always of him. A want. A need.

She rolled onto her side, denying the lust in her veins by biting down on her lip and squeezing her eyes shut. Perhaps if she counted sheep…

But he lingered. At the edge of her thoughts he grazed like a lingering breeze – the thought of him emerging like a slow, aching wave that… as she attempted desperately to regain some control… broke over her once more.

'Ugh…'

She rolled onto her stomach – kicking the blanket off her sweating limbs in the process – and buried her face into her pillow. Out loud she recited the Ten Golden Rules of preparing a cold mug of beer (credited to Logan) but in her mind she saw only the curves of a toned, tanned body; the sway of russet strands; the glow of ruby red eyes.

It was too much. This was too much. This want. This need.

A woman with a curse that denied all human touch. And yet a woman in every way.

If only her body would adapt to this curse. If only it would give up in the realization that no matter how much it longed to satisfy its natural hunger, there would be no satisfaction. There would be no accommodation. There would be no release.

Only a want. Only a need. Only a lasting torture.

No woman would ever consider the pangs of lust a torture to avoid. No woman would cower in the night at the thought of a sweet, sensual dream. No woman would deny her body and her emotions a succumbing release.

But she did.

At a quarter to three.

-X-

She awoke in a panting rage and in a dire need.

The time. Quarter passed three.

She blinked at the digital clock. Once. Twice.

With a groan, she pulled the pillow from behind her head and threw it against the door to her room. It burst in a flutter of feathers. Her hot breath escaped her mouth in bursts of exasperation.

What had it been? What in that day had encouraged this lustful wrath? Had it been the quiet walk with him by the lakeside? Had it been the shy teasing over the shared bowl of vanilla ice cream? Had it been the accidental brush in the hallway?

Accidental?

Purposeful?

She stood from her bed and walked towards the door. Her hand paused at the doorknob, her fingers lingering over the smooth brass. What was this? What was she endeavoring to do? It was a quarter passed three.

She grabbed her gloves.

And slipped out of the door.

-X-

He was sitting on the floor with his bare back against the side of his bed, his eyes fixed on the door from which she entered.

With abated breath she moved towards him, the patter of her feet muted by the plush of the carpet. His fist was clenched, his eyes fixed on her moving figure. There was a yearning in his eyes, caught only by the pool of light blinking through his window. Had he been waiting for her?

She stopped in front of him. Her hands hung by her side. She spoke not a word.

But he understood.

He lifted himself up off the floor in a liquid movement that belied gravity. Within a moment he was sitting at the edge of his bed, his hands held up just above his knees. An invitation.

She took his hands and he pulled her up onto his lap. He leaned in and, while brushing a strand of her hair out of his way, blew against her moist neck. A shiver danced through her body.

'Tell me what to do, chere,' he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.

'Do nothin',' she whispered back, as her gloved hands traveled up his bare chest. What other answer could she give him? This was already too dangerous. She pushed away and slid off his lap. She turned towards the door.

He grabbed her hand.

'Don't go.'

'Ah have to.'

He was on his feet. Then he was around her. Chest. Arms. Hands.

Scent.

Breath.

His lips hovered inches from hers. Was he hesitating, or was he teasing? She didn't have the courage to consider either. She shouldn't have come.

'Lie with me,' he whispered.

'No.'

'Then why did you come, chere?'

She didn't have an answer. He didn't need one. Grabbing her by the hand, he pulled her towards the bed. He tucked her in. He lay beside her. His clothed legs against her bare legs. His bare chest against her clothed chest. His smiling face inches from her frowning face.

Something always brought her here. She never wanted anything so much than to be set free. She thought she was strong.

But he loved her because she was fragile.

He held her without touch.

And she slept. For the moment.

Set free.


End file.
